20. Done

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This is dress rehearsal week, the week before Homecoming weekend and before tech week, when we have to stay after school and get serious about rehearsals before the big show in two weeks. There's a lot on my mind besides all the different weeks and their different levels of seriousness. There are only two more weeks before the quarter is done and Thatcher leaves for Hollywood, like Patti did. Like Moth will do this coming weekend instead of coming to Homecoming with us.

"Places everyone, places!" Mrs. Permala yells. Those of us who don't have to be on stage yet sit in the audience and wait for our turns to slink down the stairs and into the wings for our entrances.

Thatcher and Paige stand together in the stage right wing as one of the senior's moms adjusts the costumes she sewed for them to wear as though they are just mannequins. Thatcher stretches his long arms out to the sides for the mom to pin his sleeves a bit tighter, and he accidentally hits Paige, who of course starts laughing. Like she's flirting. Like she can smell our relationship is dying and she's gearing up to pounce.

"Chill," Moth instructs me.

"Look at her down there."

"Have you talked to Thatch at all?"

"Not really. Just to say that I loved him and that we needed to talk about all of this Hollywood stuff."

"Good, that's a good start. When is that happening?"

"Lights!" Mrs. Permala shouts up to one of the seniors in her control booth. The audience goes dark and the stage lights come up.

I shrug. "I don't know. Today?"

"Good. You two are too cute to let a little thing like Hollywood get between you." He smiles.

"Little, huh? It's only the dream."

He swallows hard. "Someone will call you too, Janie."

"Doubt it."

"You were great."

"I had the smallest part. And I'm new to all of this. I don't deserve it."

"Says who?"

"Says Layla."

"You know my stance on Layla, right?"

I smile and nod. "Yeah, fuck her."

He pinches my cheek and shakes it like a grandmother in 90s movies. "I love it when you curse. Gotta go, though. Gotta get my full get up on."

"I want to watch Thatcher in this first scene and then I'll be down to get my fairy stuff on too."

"See you there, kid."

I rest my head in my hand and huff to myself. What if a little thing like Hollywood gets between Thatcher and I?

Then my familiar fear of something else getting between us creeps in: He and Paige walk on stage together, hand in hand. They are their characters, but my stomach still twists. Here I am, away from my boyfriend who I'm currently mad at but trying to find a way not to be, and he's walking hand in hand with his onstage girlfriend, Hermia, who happens to be played by a girl who used to like him.

Greg Sussak as Demetrius struts toward them on stage and greets Paige's Hermia with a kiss on the hand.

"Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield thy crazed title to my certain right," he says.

Thatcher steps between them. His sleeves are a little baggy, so he reminds me more of one of his little brothers instead of himself. I smile to myself.

"You have her father's love, Demetrius," he says. His voice doesn't sound like a boy's at all. He sounds rugged and manly. My heart drops as he turns toward Paige and holds both of her hands in his as he finishes the line: "Let me have Hermia's."

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